


endings can take you by surprise

by missymeggins



Category: Castle (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: It's a dangerous game they've been playing (mostly because it's not a game at all) and all it takes is one kiss to send them spinning into something so much more.
Relationships: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle





	endings can take you by surprise

It's a dangerous game they've been playing (mostly because it's not a game at all) and all it takes is one kiss to send them spinning into something so much more. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


(If this were a book he would probably appreciate the way they the past few months have felt like they were circling back to the beginning. There's something so very literary about it all.

Because it had all started with the flirting and the sexual innuendo. He couldn't help himself around her – she had set the stage the moment she whispered the words _you have no idea_ in his ear. But then a funny thing happened; the flirting and sexual innuendo had begun to shift into something more, a tentative friendship and partnership of sorts and their conversations began to settle into things more ordinary, like his daughter or the cases they worked. 

Only, the last few months had flipped that on it's head again and he'd found himself on the receiving end of less than subtle flirting – or perhaps it was merely meant as torture? - straight from Kate Beckett's lips. 

Somehow they'd reached a place of trust which allowed her to feel completely comfortable giving him a glimpse of the lacy black bra beneath her blouse or confess to a well hidden tattoo somewhere on her skin. Or kiss him with that much passion, like it was something real and not just a ploy to distract a guard. 

If this were fiction he would appreciate the subtle progression of that relationship. But this is real life and so honestly he's just confused by it all.) 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


She watches his hands beneath hers and thinks about how wrong this all is. The image of his fists on Lockwood's face is hard to erase and beneath the bandages she knows those hands have changed. They're used to holding a pen, running swiftly over a keyboard; the only violence they normally see is that which they write. 

Now though his hands are bloody and bruised because of her. He brutally attacked a man _because of her_ and she really doesn't know how to make her peace with that. It's not that she's scared of him, she knows that rage is only superficial; it doesn't dwell inside him the way she's seen in so many other men. And she is grateful of course – she tells him so. He has her back and that means something. 

But Richard Castle is not a man who should hurt people. He just isn't, and she doesn't want him to be, not even for her. 

(Later she'll think back to this moment and marvel at the intimacy of it. She'll watch her fingers in her own memory, watch the way they soothe him, gently smoothing his bandages with such affection, treating his hands like something she knows, like something that belongs to her. 

The fact that it makes sense – he's _her_ plucky sidekick after all – just makes it all the more startling.)

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Josh calls her later that night, and for the first time in their relationship she struggles to find something to say. 

“Anything interesting happen while I've been gone?” he asks casually, because that's just the kind of thing you ask your girlfriend when you call her from another country. 

She tries to tell him but chokes on the words. She's only ever shared the bare minimum about her mother's case with him. The truth is, they didn't do heavy. The reason they worked was because they didn't bring their burdens home with them. There was no room for baggage on the back of a motorcycle and she had kind of liked it that way. Now she doesn't know how she could even begin, so she just says, “Not really. Same old stuff.”

“I miss you,” he tells her and she knows it's true. 

“I miss you too,” she tells him, but it feels like a lie. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Castle sends her a text just as she's gotten into bed. _Just checking._

At first she doesn't understand - 'just checking _what?'_ she almost texts him back, but then she hears it in his voice and in an instant it makes sense. 

He doesn't write the complete sentence, maybe because he doesn't want to give it a voice, maybe because he doesn't want her to hear that fear, but somehow even without the words she understands that what he really needs to know right now is that she's still here, still safe. 

(She can still hear his voice at the diner,  _I though you'd been hit._ )

She replies,  _I'm fine._ And then, a few seconds later, _Thank you,_ because overt displays of concern are still kind of new with them, but she needs him to know that it's okay. It's not exactly easy, adjusting to this kind of honesty between them, but she refuses to make him feel he can't express concern for her, not after what they've been through. He doesn't deserve that. 

Barely a minute passes before her phone beeps again, with just a single word.  _ Good.  _

She falls asleep with her fingers curled around her phone, oddly comforted by this intangible link with him. 

(It's almost like he's here with her.)

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


The thing about that kiss is that it's yet another moment between them that just feels like the truth. 

(They've started to add up.) 

She tells herself it was just for the cover but she knows there was a moment where she forgot all about the guard, and why they were even there, because all she could feel was his lips on hers and the way his hand cupped her cheek. 

All she could feel, all she could  _think_ of even, was him and it felt so  _real_ it was like she'd never known anything else. 

And in that moment she didn't  _want_ know anything else. That's the part she doesn't know how to deal with now. She can't un-feel it. She's not sure she really wants to, but she does know it would make things so much simpler.

(Being with Josh is simple.)

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  
At the precinct things are the same as they always are. (Cops do routine very well.) But somehow, things being the same feels completely wrong. 

Castle brings her coffee, like he always does, but it sits on her desk until it's cold. Later he seems to notice that she hasn't drunk it and he looks at her confused, but doesn't say anything.

She opens her mouth to try and explain –  _this is all feels wrong now –_ but instead she just says, “There's nothing much happening here. You can go home if you want.”  


“Oh,” he says. “Okay.” 

But she knows he doesn't understand. (She's not really sure she does either.)

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


He gets himself a coffee mug with 'Plucky Sidekick' written on it, thinking (hoping) maybe it will make her laugh. 

She can't look at it without feeling sick and hearing her own words echo inside her head.  _The plucky sidekick always dies._

(It had been a joke - a deflection - a way of diffusing the intensity of the moment. But it's not funny any more; it feels too real.)

He must see something on her face because he doesn't bring it in again. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


He begins to sense something is wrong. There's too much silence between them. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


When Josh gets back from Africa she breaks up with him. 

“I thought we were happy,” he tells her and he's not accusing or angry, just confused and this all feels so familiar.

“It's not that,” she tries to explain. (Because it's not. She _was_ happy with him. It just isn't _enough_ anymore.) I just -” _Don't think this is what I'm looking for right now._ She won't use those words, won't turn this into a pattern of behaviour (even though it feels like that's exactly what it is - if two people are enough to constitute a 'pattern'?) so she tries to find something else. 

“I don't think I want to be in this as much as you do and that's not really fair.” 

It sounds like a line, even to her own ears, and she hates that but it's the truth. And it's also less than that, she knows, because the truth of her and Castle has always been more than complicated. 

“You're right, it's not,” he replies and this time there's maybe the tiniest hint of bitterness there. She feels it sting but doesn't really blame him. 

“I'm sorry, Josh.”

“Me too Kate,” he tells her walking to the door. He turns back for a moment and she knows exactly what he's going to say, but then he doesn't say it, just shakes his head a little and leaves. 

It doesn't make a difference, even unspoken the words fly straight to her ears and suddenly they're a chorus and nothing she does can drown them out. 

_He better be worth it._

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


She can't sleep, hasn't in days, and as she aimlessly wanders her living room, searching for a distraction she spots the flowers he'd given her just a week before, dying quietly now in a corner. 

And that's all it takes. She just can't go on like this. _They_ just can't go on like this. 

She pulls out her phone and dials his number. It takes him a while to answer and she nearly hangs up, disconcerted as she is by the long forgotten feeling of butterflies in her tummy, but then there's his voice so familiar and real on the other end of her phone and it should be a comfort but in this moment it's altogether terrifying. 

“Kate? What's wrong?” he says, the concern clear in his voice. 

“Nothing,” she tells him but she looks at her hand beside her and the way her fingers are gripping the material of the couch betrays her. 

“It's 2:57 in the morning,” he says bluntly. “What's wrong?” he asks again and this time his voice is so careful it makes her throat tighten painfully. 

“What if you stopped shadowing me?” she says quietly. She can't quite bring herself to say what she really means, _I think it's best if you stop shadowing me,_ but she suspects that's exactly what he'll hear anyway. 

There's a pause while she waits for him to respond and it surprises her how much she's begun to hate silence. It never used to be that way. But of course, Richard Castle didn't used to be her partner either. Or friend. Or whatever. 

(Definitions just slide right off them, nothing ever sticks properly.)

“You want me to stop?” he asks, barely disguising the hurt in his voice and for once she's so glad she can't see his face right now. 

She breathes in and closes her eyes. “I want to stop being afraid that I might lose you,” she confesses. 

She ends the call before he can respond. (She's not sure she can really have this conversation with him.)

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


Less than twenty minutes later there's a knock on her door. She hasn't moved yet and her fingers are still curled tightly around around the phone. 

It's him of course and really she should have known he'd end up on her doorstep eventually, but she was hoping, stupidly of course, that maybe they could avoid this confrontation. 

She opens the door and he doesn't even wait a beat, “What if I stop coming to the precinct and it means I lose  _ you? _ ” he asks her. “You can't ask that of me Kate, it's not fair.”

She opens the door a little wider and steps aside, gesturing for him to come in. She turns her back on him, trying to figure out how to do this. 

(She's made her confession, and maybe he has too, but the words are still wrapped up in other things when really they need to just be laid bare. The problem is neither of them are good at stripping things down to the truth.)

“You have more than enough material for _Nikki Heat_ Rick, you don't need to keep coming in and we both know it,” she says and she knows it isn't really fair to play it like this but she doesn't know how else to do it. 

“Come on Kate,” he sighs. “You know it's not about the books anymore.” 

“But what does that _mean_?” she demands, turning to face him, because she needs to hear him say it. She needs the actual words in all their simplicity. _I want you._

“Tell me,” she asks, a little more softly, “tell me what that means.”

“It means it's about you!” he finally yells, stepping closer to her. “It's about wanting to be with you, in whatever way I can because -”

But she cuts him off, covering the distance between them in a single step. (Somehow they always gravitate toward each other, even in a fight. It's magnetic, this need they have to be in each other's space.)

She presses her lips to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against him as hard as she can and he holds her there, hands on her hips while he loses himself in her. 

And this time it's everything. There's no guard, no cover, and no excuses; just them and the truth that this is all they want. 

She breaks their kiss just long enough to take a breath and whisper, “Come on,” as she takes his hand and leads him down the hallway to her room. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


He trails a hand lazily down her spine and she looks at him and smiles. He's not hesitant to touch her and she loves that already.  
  
“So, what now?” he asks, voice turning serious. “It's not about the books. But that doesn't mean I _want_ to stop being your partner.”  
  
“Why? So you can keep me safe?” she laughs softly.   
  
“No,” he tells her, shaking his head a little. “Because I like what we do Kate. I like working cases with you, I like that we're _good_ at it. And I know you don't _need_ me -”  
  
She cuts him off quickly, “That doesn't mean I don't want you though. You're right, we are good at this and I like it too, but there's too much danger and I don't think either of us are equipped to deal with the constant fear that one of us might get hurt one day. I _know_ I'm not.”  
  
“And you think I'll stop worrying about you if I'm not there?” he asks pointedly.   
  
“No. But _I'll_ stop worrying about you and I'll be able to concentrate on doing my job safely. And at least that's a little less reason – for both of us – to worry, don't you think?”  
  
He sighs, because of course she makes sense and part of him knows she's right even if he doesn't like it. 

She leans forward, kissing him lightly, and then pulls back so she can see him properly. “Just because you stop shadowing me doesn't mean our partnership has to end completely, you know? You can still be my plucky sidekick.”  
  
“Oh. How's that?” 

“There's always this. You, me, dinner at night, breakfast in bed. I'll tell you about my cases and you can spin your stories for me. I'll even bring the files home for you,” she says with a little grin. “We'll still be Castle and Beckett, just with a little less danger. Okay?”

There's no point arguing with her, he thinks. Not when she seems to be promising him something along the lines of 'forever.' (Okay, maybe there's some poetic license there, but at the very least she's offering him something more than just  _ now  _ and it's  _ Kate Beckett _ ; he's not stupid enough to pass that up.)

“Okay,” he tells her, pulling her close and brushing his lips against her bare shoulder. “Anything, so long as I get to keep doing this.”

“Deal,” she murmurs, sliding her body over his and kissing him deeply. 

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


In the end, it works so much better than they would ever have expected. Sometimes they miss it, the way things used to be, but their lives just drift back a little, something closer to what they had before each other. 

And it's a good thing, for both of them. He writes books; she catches killers. (Sometimes they overlap just a little bit.)

At the end of the day they come home to each other. 


End file.
